My Name is Mary Sutter

In some ways I liked the struggle better, I think. It clarified what was important.

For all the things we say to our children for their own good, very little good ever comes of it.

Love and war, it seemed, worked by the same rules. One had to hurry, before the fires flared out.

Why is it that voices break hearts?

Sometimes, he felt himself not so much at his wit’s end, but witless.